


The Salutary Effects of Bathing

by Lokei



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-13
Updated: 2006-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokei/pseuds/Lokei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hadn’t meant to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Salutary Effects of Bathing

**Author's Note:**

> For the AOS “Voyeurism” challenge. Seems Maria's getting to have all the fun around here.

She hadn’t meant to see, and, having seen, certainly hadn’t meant to stay. But as Maria fled down the stairs with cheeks burning, she saw not the steps before her feet nor the dingy plaster of the walls, but the image of a partly open door into a nearly empty room.

Just not quite empty enough.

\- - - -

“Maria! Go tell your young gentleman there’s breakfast ready in a few minutes if he’s wantin’ any,” Mrs. Mason barked.

“Mother, he’s not my young gentleman,” Maria chided softly, casting a worried glance up towards the staircase.

“No more he isn’t,” Mrs. Mason agreed. “No gentleman at all, two weeks past due on ‘is rent.”

Maria frowned and headed up the stairs. Lieutenant Hornblower had been staying with them for just over two months, and in that time she had already found him pleasant, if rather reserved, and scrupulous about paying his rent, even if it was often late. She had no doubts he would pay as soon as he was able, and was trying to figure out the best way to tell him so that she reached the top of the stairs almost without realizing it, when a flash of movement caught her eye.

The door didn’t hang even, and Lieutenant Hornblower being so particular about his privacy, Maria was always very careful when delivering laundry or wash water to latch it as she left, but this morning Mr. Hornblower had smiled when he said ‘thank you’ and asked after the children at her school. She had been so flustered, she must not have latched the door, and so now it was hanging partly open.

Maria’s mother had not been able to decide if she was amused or indignant when their newest lodger had indicated that he required wash water every morning—she was not seemingly sure if this was evidence of true good breeding, or simply “puttin’ on airs, that one.” Maria, however, had taken it upon herself to make sure he had warm water every day, and it was for this he had thanked her earlier.

And it was this which currently occupied his attention, and now hers. Through the partly open door, Maria could see him from her vantage point on the stairs. He was standing at the washbasin, stripped to the waist in front of the tiny mirror he had brought with him in his sea chest.

As she watched, he wrung the excess water out of a cloth and took careful swipes with it over one shoulder, then the other. The tan he brought with him from his ship had faded almost entirely, but his hand was still just slightly darker than the pale skin it covered with long professional ease. As he turned slightly, Maria put her hand over her mouth to see the pinkish scar decorating his shoulder, and the way the wiry thinness of his arms was accentuated by the gauntness of his frame. The washcloth slipped to the sound of dripping over ribs which were far too visible, traced deftly by long fingers.

He ate breakfasts here: it didn’t look like he’d been eating much anywhere else.

All the same, Maria’s mouth was dry, and she might have stood there forever, watching him. Watching the way those fingers ran through the tangle of his hair and tied it back with a few swift movements, watching the play of the muscles in his back, watching the way he worried his lower lip as he contemplated the remains of the wash water. He looked as if he was seriously considering dumping what was left over his head as he rolled the bowl between his palms.

The idea made Maria squeak involuntarily with what might have been the beginnings of a giggle, and her eyes widened as Hornblower’s head came up with a jerk. Horrified, Maria clapped a hand over her mouth again as Hornblower reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, those familiar eyebrows drawn together in puzzled irritation.

She fled down the stairs, stopped after a few steps, turned around and came back, eyes lowered modestly to examine the fingers she was twining nervously in the folds of her dress.

“Mr. Hornblower, sir, breakfast’s on the table,” she called from a safe distance.

“Thank you, Maria,” his voice was far closer than she expected and she looked up to see him on the top stair above her, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Was there something else?”

“The…the stair squeaks, sir, I’ll see if I can get Mr. Burgess next door over to look at it.”

That pitiless eyebrow went up. “Does it? I hadn’t noticed.” He lifted the stock in his left hand. “I shall be down as soon as I’m presentable, if that suits your mother?”

Maria was certain she was bright scarlet. “I’m sure that will be fine, Mr. Hornblower.” With what was equally certainly an undignified exit, she bobbed her head and scooted back down the stairs as fast as she could without tripping over her skirts.

She hadn’t meant to see, and having seen, she certainly hadn’t meant to stay.

But she didn’t exactly regret it, either.


End file.
